


Warming Your Kitchen

by roanniom



Category: Paterson (2016)
Genre: Dry Humping, Dry Orgasm, Dry Sex, F/M, Food, Paterson x reader - Freeform, Paterson x you - Freeform, mentions of food
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:08:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roanniom/pseuds/roanniom
Summary: Paterson surprises you on the morning of Christmas Eve.
Relationships: Paterson (Paterson)/Reader, Paterson (Paterson)/You
Kudos: 14





	Warming Your Kitchen

When you wake up on Christmas Eve, it’s so cold inside your little starter home that you have to lift up onto your tip toes as you pad out into the kitchen, pulling your oversized sweater tighter and lower to cover your naked thighs. You’d woken to an empty bed and you’re eager to find the big warm body that should have been tangled up in your sheets with you.

The kitchen smells like a bakery when you enter, but you’re surprised to find it spotless. Certainly cleaner than when you’d gone to bed, leaving the debris of your latest culinary adventures to be the problem of your future self. Now the counters practically shine. You hug yourself for warmth and check over each shoulder for the cleaning culprit.

“Pat?” you call out. “Paterson, are you up here?”

Silence meets you and you are disappointed. He must have left for the day already. Though it’s too much to ask that he play hooky from work, you really had hoped you could see him before he’d set off. You could have brewed him a nice cup of coffee, maybe fried up some bacon and sat at the table with your steaming mug as you watch him crunch away.

A sound breaks through your thoughts. The coffee you’d been daydreaming about – it’s already percolating in the pot. You step up to the counter and smile, touching a freezing finger tip to the hot glass of the coffee pot and inhaling the rich scent deep into your lungs. Pat must have started it for you before leaving. The thought touches you and a pang of guilt passes through you again as you realize you must have just missed him. If only you’d woken up just a few moments earlier.

You glance around one more time at your empty kitchen. Since Pat’s not here to make a hearty breakfast for, you don’t seem to have much of an appetite yourself, at least for now. No, a cup of coffee, maybe a surreptitious chunk of the good dark chocolate you two keep squirreled away. That’s all you need until you get some work done and wander back in to dig through the fridge when your hunger inevitably arrives later in the morning.

Opening the cabinet where you keep the chocolate, you swipe your hand back and forth over the shelf.

Nothing.

That’s odd. You could have sworn there was at least half a brick left. You settle back down on your heels in disappointment, bouncing back up onto the balls of your feet when the cold tile proves too shocking.

Suddenly your body is enveloped by a set of warm arms, coiling around your waist and pulling you into a solid figure as you yelp with surprise and delight. A pair of long, fuzzy socks are pushed into your open palms.

“How’d you know I’d need socks?” You ask, shimmying back to bask in the body heat that has been gifted to you. A chuckle vibrates through the man behind you and into your bones.

“You always need socks, Beautiful.” Warm lips press to the hollow spot below your earlobe. One of the arms that holds you close retracts, leaving your right side momentarily cold once more. You hear wood scrape against tile – a chair dragging away from the kitchen table – and suddenly you’re being pulled down and settled on a giant thigh, exposed from the boxers down, save for a pair of socks, equally fuzzy to the ones you now hold in your hands.

You wriggle in his grasp to finally take in your captor. Paterson smiles down at you with adorably sleepy eyes and adorably rumpled hair. You press both hands over his wrinkled white t shirt, smoothing your palms across the firm planes of his chest.

“You know just how to take care of me, Pat.”

His smile broadens.

“Up,” he says simply in response, tapping your thigh. You lift one leg up to balance your foot lightly on his opposite knee. Paterson grabs one of the socks from your grasp and slides it gingerly over your toes, around your heel, encasing your ankle. He closes his hands around your calves as he pulls the long socks up, up, up and over your bent knee. He drops your leg and repeats the process with the next. This time when he reaches the top of the sock, he snaps the elastic hem of the garment before running his hand down the length of your thigh reverently.

Warmth pools in your core and you chew on your lip, watching the beautiful man you love so much handle you with such care. Your small hand closes over his large one, halting his motions.

“Aren’t you going to be late for work?”

Paterson doesn’t answer you, instead he pulls you closer and captures your lips in a deep, indulgent kiss. His lips are sweeter than usual, a rich flavor rounding out the taste that is so inherently his. So inherently your Paterson.

When he leans back, his eyes don’t open immediately, seemingly savoring you just as much as you had been savoring him. When he does open them, his lids are heavy. Content. Drowsy with warmth and love and probably a little bit of lust, too. You shift under the heat of his hooded gaze and feel an increasing hardness, poking at your hip from the way you are seated on his lap. So maybe more than a little bit of lust.

“I called in. I have the day off.”

Your eyes widen with surprise but that isn’t the end of the sweet words falling from his lips.

“And tomorrow is Christmas and then the weekend. So that means -”

“That means we have a whole four days together?” you finish the statement as a question, breathless for the confirmation. His smile is dazzling.

“You and me. Christmas. A long weekend.” Before he can go on, you’re crushing your mouth to his. He hums with amusement as you straddle him, pushing him further against the back of the chair. You release him so you can both finally take a breath, but you cut your own pursuit of air short in order to kiss your way down and over his jaw. You undulate your hips, grinding down onto his hardening length through both your undergarments.

“When I woke up to an empty bed, I was afraid you’d left without a kiss.”

Pat’s hands slide from your thighs to close around your hips.

“I would never do that,” he says, wresting control back so he can press kisses to the corner of your mouth. In doing so he slows the pace. You breathe deeply, relishing the feeling when his mouth begins working at your throat. “You know that, don’t you? I can’t leave the house until I give my Beautiful exactly what she deserves.”

He’s grinding right back now, pushing up with his hips so that when you move your pelvis down, the head of his boxers-encased cock rubs insistently against your panty-clad pussy, both layers of clothing rendered wet with arousal.

“Oh yeah? And what do I deserve?” you ask. The words are meant to come out playful, but they sound heated. Lower, deeper with desire. You’d woken up needy, hence the depth of your disappointment when you’d noticed his absence from your shared bed.

“You deserve the world. Jewels…flowers…silks.” He says each thing between punctuating kisses, first on your jaw, then on the bridge of your nose, then back to the hollow space beneath your ear again. Your favorite spot. And he knows it. That’s why it’s his favorite spot, too.

You feel his teeth scrape your skin, his tongue laving over it in quick succession. You feel pressure as he begins to suck down and the feeling makes you dizzy. You don’t worry about a mark, instead you relish in the idea. You have four days for him to mark you up even more.

One particularly exquisite bit of suction causes you to thrust your hips down onto him erratically and he moans at the unexpected friction.

“Do you think I deserve to be touched?”

“Mmm yes. And often.”

You grab one of his hands and move it through the wide neck of your slouchy sweater. He doesn’t need any further prompting, hand closing around your breast. Squeezing and kneading the pillowy flesh. He’s the one to thrust erratically up into you this time.

Laughter bubbles in your throat, stuttering out with the insistent, accelerating roll of his hips. You feel dizzy. Giddy. You’re a full blown adult, in your own kitchen, sitting in the lap of the man you love. And yet you’re grinding and rubbing like a teenager. You feel your slick smearing around your lower lips as you gyrate harder, faster. You want to pull his cock out. Want to impale yourself on him, feel him deep inside you as you ride him. Wringing out his pleasure. Wringing out your own pleasure.

But this feels too good. Too sweet. Like your Pat. Almost innocent but so, so good.

Pat’s hand roots around in your sweater, tugging at your nipple till the last second when it slips from his grasp, only for his hand to engulf its twin. 

“Oh, Pat.”

“Yes, Beautiful?” He grips your hip and shifts you slightly up with just one hand. The alteration in your position makes it so that the head of his fat cock, still clothed, hits repeatedly at your clit with each consistent thrust. Your moan is absolutely pornographic, in stark contrast with your juvenile rutting.

“That feels good.”

“It feels good? Does it, baby?”

“Ohhh yeah. Oh – oh!” He twists your nipple then and you drop your hand between you, gripping the outline of his cock. His moan reverberates through you and you feel like melting. You’re close to cumming. Already.

It’s all so simple, and you love it. You love that you could be doing more but you’re enjoying this too much to bother. You love that Paterson seems to love it too, wanting nothing more than to chase this delicious friction. Warming your kitchen on a bright winter morning with little else than the heat between you.

Lost in your bliss, Paterson catches you off guard when the hand at your hip slides around and down, pressing to your clit through your panties. The tight circles on your swollen bud, combined with his hot mouth enveloping your earlobe, sucking biting licking. Combined with the way his hand cups your whole breast beneath your sweater. Combined with his still canting hips beneath you.

You fall apart in his arms.

Pussy quaking around nothing, so you grip his shoulders and let the muscles of your thighs shake. He lets up his attack on your earlobe then in favor of light, brushing kisses to your cheeks and eyelids. His hips continue to thrust up into you, cock still hard but pace lazy now that he’s accomplished his goal – your satisfaction.

You disintegrate in his arms and gaze up at him with love in your eyes. His face is golden – glowing – and you’re not sure if it’s the diffused morning light through the kitchen window or your post-orgasm haze, but it really doesn’t matter because he’s beautiful.

He kisses your brow bone and you run a hand through his tousled waves. Things are beginning to come back into focus, your gratitude and curiosity returning as well.

“You cleaned the kitchen.”

“Hmmm.” He kisses your jaw.

“And started the coffee.”

“Mhmm.” He kisses your chin, moving down to your throat.

“I only have one question.”

“Hmm?”

You grab him by the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him from your throat so you can latch onto his lips once more. There’s that richness again. You lick into his mouth, confirming your suspicions.

“Why exactly is the chocolate gone?” you ask when you pull away. Breathless. Grinning.

Paterson is breathless as well. His eyes take a second to focus after the depth of your last kiss. When he registers the question, however, a smile spreads out across his face. He stands abruptly, hoisting you up so quick you scramble to wrap your legs around his waist and cling to him by the shoulders. He walks you effortlessly to the other side of the kitchen, depositing you onto the counter beside the oven. You watch him, confused, as he bends over to pull something from the oven, but your eyes widen in delight when he straightens and you see what had been warming in there.

A heaping plate of chocolate chunk pancakes.

“I thought you also deserved something sweet this morning, Beautiful.” He rips off a fluffy, gooey piece and holds it to your lips. It tastes amazing.

“Mmmm,” you hum.

“How is it, Beautiful? Good?” You nod in reply and can barely help yourself when you take his fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue over the chocolate that remained there.

When his knees almost buckle on the spot, you remember the fact that he had been so generous with you. So selfless with his pleasure. You pull his fingers out of your mouth and hop off the counter.

“So good. But you know what, Pat?” you ask, toying with the waistband of his boxers. He watches you. Like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.

“What, Beautiful?”

You drop to your knees.

“I’m in the mood for something even better.”

~*~


End file.
